


Waves That Swallow (Quick and Deep)

by coricomile



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-05 23:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10319945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: "Three goals," Sid says against Geno's mouth, his hands skating over the span of Geno's hips. The old joke of him only getting it up for hockey hadn't been funny when he was a teenager, is even less funny now, but he'd loved Geno's hockey before he'd loved Geno, and competence gets him off. There's nothing wrong with that. "Three goals in eleven minutes."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Lol this is two months after the Caps-Pens game it's set after, tonight's game was a shitshow, and no defenceman is safe on the team because it is a cursed position. Have some porn. Maybe it'll help.

Sid follows Geno home, vibrating in his car as the adrenaline from the game slowly fades away. They'd fucked up at least a little- letting seven goals in was bad, was _terrible_ \- but the second period- Jesus. Sid's still not sure he hadn't dreamed it. And Geno- Geno had dragged the whole team on his back, kicking and screaming the whole way. 

The door is still open a little when Sid parks the Tahoe. He's had this talk with Geno before- they're in a good neighborhood, but leaving the door open for any longer than necessary is just asking for trouble- but he shelves it for later. He still locks it behind him, kicking off his shoes and pulling off his jacket in quick tugs that will probably wrinkle the wool.

Geno's in the living room, his shirt untucked from his pants and tie gone, a bottle of water in one hand and his phone up to his ear. The living room is dark, but the light from the kitchen spills over, highlighting the curve of Geno's shoulders, the slope of his neck as he rolls his head from side to side. He says something in Russian, laughing a little at whoever's on the other side. It's probably his parents, calling to congratulate him on the night, but Sid doesn't really want to think about them right now. 

Geno looks up, his eyes shadowed and his voice loud in the quiet of the room, and Sid feels it like a punch to the chest. Geno grins and crooks a finger. Sid shouldn't encourage his bad behavior, but he goes anyway. He regrets it instantly when Geno shoves his phone into Sid's face, holding it there expectantly. Natalia's call photo is on the screen. 

"Privet, mama," Sid says obediently. He still feels weird about calling Natalia mama, but Geno always brightens up when he does it, and Natalia always scolds him if he doesn't. Geno pulls the phone away before Sid has to say anything else and makes his hasty goodbyes, crowding into Sid's space, close enough that Sid can feel the vibration of his chest as he talks. 

Geno tosses his phone onto the couch- another bad habit Sid's been trying to work out of him- and brushes a kiss over Sid's forehead, another on his cheek. Sid grabs him by the hair and pulls him into a real kiss. Sometimes, with Geno, it's best to just be direct with what he wants.

"Three goals," Sid says against Geno's mouth, his hands skating over the span of Geno's hips. The old joke of him only getting it up for hockey hadn't been funny when he was a teenager, is even less funny now, but he'd loved Geno's hockey before he'd loved Geno, and competence gets him off. There's nothing wrong with that. "Three goals in eleven minutes."

"I'm best, I know," Geno says. He tips his head back and Sid bites down against his throat, licks at the skin there. Geno's arms tighten around Sid's waist. He presses his half-hard cock into Sid's hip, giving a shameless little grind that makes Sid hot all over. "You give me reward?" He's laughing when Sid pulls away, his eyes bright and his tongue pressed behind his teeth. He's so smug, so sure of himself, and Sid only deals with it because Geno backs up every claim. "Positive reinforcement best for repeat results." It's something Sid's said before a dozen times, and he means it. He really, really does. 

"Yeah," Sid says. "Come on." 

He untangles himself from Geno's arms and makes his way through the living room, not bothering to look back to see if Geno's following him. When he reaches the top landing of he stairs, he hooks his thumb in the knot of his tie and tugs it loose, unhooks his cufflinks and stuffs everything into a pocket. He's been wearing suits since before he was old enough to drive, but his disdain for them has never waned. His shirt is already untucked and half unbuttoned when he reaches the bedroom. He's barely through the door when Geno attaches himself to his back, arms curling around Sid's stomach and chin digging into Sid's shoulder. 

They stumble-walk to the bed without bothering to turn on the lights, Sid distracted by the warm breath against his neck, the hand sliding down to unbuckle his belt. When Sid's knees hit the mattress, he turns them around, pushing back with his ass until Geno has to let go or tip over. He finishes the job Geno had started on his belt and pulls it through the loops, tossing it off to the side. 

"Sit down," Sid says. He pulls his shirt off and crumples it before settling onto his knees, pushing his way between Geno's thighs. His eyes haven't fully adjusted to the dark yet, but he doesn't need to see to get Geno off. He's been doing it long enough he could probably do it deaf, blind, and half tied. 

Geno still has most of his clothes on, the wool of his pants straining over his spread thighs, but he doesn't take anything else off, just undoes his belt and pops the button of his slacks. The weight of his cock forces the zipper down, demanding attention. Sid kisses the head of it, drags his lips over warm cotton as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of his slacks and pulls. 

It takes some teamwork to get them down and off, but as soon as they're gone Geno cups one hand around Sid's neck and drags him back in, as impatient and bossy as he always is. Sid pinches his thigh and has the grace not to laugh at Geno's sound of affronted indignity. 

"Stop being so pushy," he says, kissing the little red mark his fingers had left. Geno's warm and smells like locker room soap, his skin soft. His dick tents his briefs, the slit in the front gaped open just enough for Sid to catch a glimpse of it. 

"You like pushy," Geno says. He's not wrong, but Sid wants to run this show for at least a little while. 

Sid ignores him, ducking down to press his face against Geno's hip. He smells clean, a little like salt, a little like the laundry detergent Sid uses. He presses his palm against Geno's dick to feel it thickening up. He gives himself a moment there, not doing anything but enjoying it, before he tugs at the legs of Geno's underwear, pulling them down over Geno's hopelessly skinny legs and tossing them towards the hamper. 

Geno ducks down, his back and neck tilted in a way that can't be comfortable, and kisses Sid again, slow and sweet. Sid wants to say he's indulging him, but that would be lying. Geno loves kissing, loves the closeness and intimacy of it that sometimes sex just doesn't offer, and he's trained Sid into appreciating it more. Sid still stops when Geno starts shifting a little, sitting back on his heels and rubbing his hands over Geno's thighs. 

"Don't hurt yourself," he says, and Geno laughs. 

"Not too old yet," he says as he sits up. He hooks his thumb lazily around the base of his coc,and pulls just enough to free the red head from his foreskin. It presents everything nicely for Sid to look at. Sid does. He takes in all of Geno as best he can from so close. He doesn't think about them, this, too much anymore, and it still floors him sometimes that they're where they are. It's a good, important reminder. 

Sid kisses Geno's knuckles, drags his lips up them until he meets softer, warmer skin. Geno's hand twitches against Sid's jaw but he leaves it where it is, pressing forward with his thumb so Sid has an easier angle to work with. It's considerate in a selfish way, which is pretty much Geno in summary, and Sid is just so- he doesn't know. 

Sid rubs his lips over the head of Geno's dick, his hands braced on Geno's thighs. They tense under his palms, the muscles solid if not large. When Sid sticks his tongue out to lick the slit, Geno's other hand falls to his head, his fingers curling in Sid's hair. Sid grins and sucks at the bunch of skin under the flared head. 

"This not hat trick blowjob," Geno says impatiently. Sid sets his teeth against the delicate skin he'd been teasing, just a warning, before he sits back again. 

"The last time I got a hat trick you took _three hours_ to get me off." It had been a great three hours, what Sid can remember of it anyway, and Geno had been smug about it for a solid week. Sid doesn't think he's got enough juice to drag this out for even one hour, let alone multiples, but his point still stands. 

Geno sucks in a sharp breath when Sid licks up his cock, one long line to the tip, pausing just long enough to suck the head into his mouth before starting back at the bottom. He takes his time, falling into the easy rhythm of up, suck, down. He's hard in his slacks, his cock pinched uncomfortably against his thigh, but he can't reach a hand down to adjust himself without pitching forward. 

"Pretty," Geno says softly, stroking Sid's jaw with the backs of his knuckles. He tucks his thumb into the corner of Sid's mouth and Sid obligingly sucks, dragging his teeth over the pad of it before going back to work. A fat drop of precome slides over the side of Geno's cock and Sid chases it with his tongue. It's salty and thin, not something he particularly likes, but Geno makes a soft, wounded noise that goes straight to Sid's dick. 

Geno's fingers dig into Sid's hair when Sid sucks at him again, holding him so just the tip of his cock rests on Sid's lower lip. Sid lets him, looks up and catalogues the way Geno's watching him, the way Geno's mouth hangs open just a little, the way his chest is rising and falling fast and unsteady. 

Sid takes pity on him. He scoots closer to the bed, shoving Geno's thighs apart with his shoulders, and takes Geno into his mouth properly. Geno groans, his fingers going tight enough in Sid's hair that it stings. Sid pulls off long enough to bite Geno's thigh, right above the old scar. Geno yelps, but Sid's message seems to have gone through.

Sid can't do this for a long period of time. Not since the puck to the face. Geno never fusses about it, never does anything more than laugh and brag about the size of his dick when Sid has to give up or risk lockjaw, which is something neither of them wants to have to explain to anyone ever. To compensate, Sid has made himself, very, very good at knowing what Geno likes. 

He keeps everything wet and fast, ignores the sounds his mouth makes as sinks down all the way to meet Geno's hand because he thinks they're gross, but Geno likes them. He keeps his own hands on Geno's thighs, puts his weight behind them to keep Geno from shifting around. Geno mumbles something under his breath, a run of vowels that Sid doesn't bother to put meaning to, and his quads tense under Sid's palms. 

Sid digs his nails into the muscle as he goes all the way down and Geno jerks, his free hand flying back up to Sid's head. This time, Sid lets Geno hold him in place by the hair. He has to take rabbit fast breaths through his nose, Geno's cock impossible to breathe around from this angle, and the corners of his mouth are starting to ache, but when he looks up, Geno's staring at him like he's incredible, and Sid can handle a little discomfort for that. 

Eventually, Sid has to pull back to cough, going a little dizzy as he gets his air back. The hand Geno has on his dick goes to work, tight and rough as he jerks himself off. Sid leans in and presses his face to the smooth, hot skin of Geno's hip, sinking his teeth into the arch of bone. Geno's abs jump and tense under Sid's cheek. Sid bites those, too, Geno's fist bouncing off his shoulder as his messy strokes speed up. 

"Come on, G," he says softly, throat a little raw around the words. 

He wants to get his mouth back on Geno's cock, but he doesn't try. He's as likely as not to get accidentally punched in the face, which isn't really something he's ever been into, in the context of sex or not. Instead, he wiggles back just enough to undo his fly. When he manages to actually get his dick out- he doesn't care how great his ass looks in his suit pants, they're fucking hard to get off- he groans. 

"Fuck," Geno says, low and almost absent. The fingers in Sid's hair tighten, pulling him in, and Sid goes. If Geno wants to end his hat trick blowjob with a facial, he deserves it. Sid closes his eyes- a lesson learned early on- and only jumps a little when the first spurt of come hits his cheek. " _Fuck_."

Sid opens one eye cautiously and Geno laughs, even as he swipes his thumb under Sid's other eye, smearing his come in. It's objectively gross, but Sid's lizard brain is all over Geno marking him up, claiming him as intimately as possible. Geno, because he is both the best and the worst, just keeps doing that as he catches his breath. He's sweaty and pink, his hair sticking to his forehead and his hip a messy landscape of red patches from Sid's teeth. He's so unbearably hot it's almost painful. Sid's dick jerks, like it's trying to remind him he hasn't gotten off yet. He knows. _He knows_. 

"You're cleaning that off when I'm done," Sid says. 

"Good for face," Geno says, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Sid's forehead. "Keep skin nice."

"Fuck you," Sid says, using Geno's thighs to push himself up. He kicks his pants off and shoves his underwear down to join them. 

"Too tired," Geno says with an exaggerated yawn. He flops back onto the bed, his thighs spread obscenely, his long body taking up most of the mattress. "Fuck me tomorrow."

"You're not funny," Sid says, crawling over top of Geno and laying flat over him. It's something Geno does to him a lot, and Sid can see a why. He can feel Geno breathing, can feel the sweat cooling on his skin, can feel the thud of his heart as it beats. The fact that it puts Sid's dick into the hollow of hip he'd been so focused on earlier doesn't hurt either. 

"Most funny," Geno says. He wraps his arms around Sid's waist, one big hand landing on Sid's ass. He strokes his thumb over Sid's tailbone, lazy and indulgent. It would be nice if Sid wasn't aching to get off. 

" _Do_ something." Sid rocks his hips against Geno's, pleased with the pained noise Geno lets out when their cocks press together. Geno's an asshole most of the time, but so is Sid. He's just quieter about it. 

Geno sighs, but he dumps Sid on his side, their legs tangled together, one of his arms under Sid's head like a pillow. He reaches between them and the sound Sid makes when Geno starts to jerk him off- slow and tight, familiar motions that make Sid's stomach clench- is embarrassing, but it's not like Geno's never heard it before. 

"Pretty," Geno says again. That, at least, isn't embarrassing. It should be, probably, but Geno always says it so sincerely that Sid can't help being pleased by it. Sid buries his face into Geno's neck, breathing in the familiar smell of him as he fucks into Geno's fist. 

It doesn't take long for Sid's orgasm to creep up on him. He feels it pooling low in his stomach, good but unhurried. Geno's making running commentary, his voice a low rumble that mostly blurs together. He presses his thigh up against Sid's balls, just enough pressure to make Sid arch toward him, and for a moment Sid can't see anything but white. He whines when he comes, the overwhelming need to wrap Geno up in his arms only waylaid because he can't quite move anything just yet. 

For a moment, Sid just lays there panting, face still pressed to Geno's skin. When it gets too hard to breathe, he rolls onto his back, his knee still hooked around Geno's. Now that the pleasant undercurrent of sex is gone, he's mostly sore from the game and ready to sleep. In the morning, he'll make Geno something nice for breakfast and DVR the highlights from the game. Geno makes a soft noise that sounds suspiciously like a snore and Sid kicks him. 

"I wasn't kidding," Sid says around a yawn. "I'm not sleeping with jizz on my face. You put it there, you clean it up."

Geno groans but gets out of bed and stumbles to the bathroom in the dark. Sid closes his eyes when the light turns on, grinning when he hears Geno grumbling to himself, and listens to the water run in the sink. It's been a long, rough day, but Sid feels pretty happy with everything. His team won, the Caps lost- which is a related but separate joy- and he had sex. There isn't really anything more he could ask for. 

When he gets back, Geno carefully wipes down the flaky mess on Sid's face, yawning into his shoulder. He does a cursory scrub over Sid's stomach with the washcloth and then another more careful one over Sid's dick. He drops the washcloth on the floor with a wet thump before flopping down onto the bed hard enough to knock the headboard into the wall. 

Sid rearranges him to his liking, making a nice space for himself that will be gone entirely by the time he wakes up. Geno- who had once fallen asleep standing up in the back row of a charity dinner- can sleep almost anywhere and in any way. Sid likes to sleep on his side, knees up, head elevated, which works really well with Geno on his back and Sid curled into him. Geno gets his fill of cuddling, Sid gets all the perks of sleep positioning, and both of them are happy. 

"You're killing it this year," Sid says as he pulls the covers up over them. Geno grins and waits patiently for Sid to settle. "I mean it."

"I know," Geno says. He fans his hand out low on Sid's back, quietly possessive. "Have to beat you for Art Ross. Always make me work so hard."

"It makes you better," Sid says. Since the first day they'd played together, Sid could feel the push, push, push of Geno at his back, always encouraging him to try harder, to keep going, to be unafraid. He's pretty sure he does that for Geno, too, gives him someone to race forward with, to compete against. There's a whole league out there of guys that claim to be the best, but no one makes Sid work harder than Geno. No one. 

"No hockey in bed," Geno says, even though he'd milked it to get what he wanted earlier. His voice is soft, the gentle thump of his heart under Sid's head slowing down in tiny increments. "You try ask for play-by-play, you sleep on couch." This is a lie. Geno has three perfectly serviceable guest rooms, for one thing, and he hates passing up even the chance of morning sex if it's on the table, which it most definitely won't be if Sid's banished to the living room.

Still, Sid goes quiet, content to just listen to the soft, familiar sound of Geno falling asleep under him. When he closes his eyes, Sid can see the hats on the ice and hear Geno yelling across to the Capitals bench in smug Russian after his third goal, ugly with Ovechkin the way he is when they're on the ice. He can still feel the rattle of his stick in his hands as he'd banged it against the boards. 

Geno never takes enough credit for how good he is. Not for anything more serious than teasing other people. He should- he's the best, and Sid will go down fighting if anyone says otherwise- and he deserves to revel in his achievements. Sid will just have to remind him how good he is as often as possible. It's not a problem at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to join me at [tumblr](http://notyourlovesong.tumblr.com).


End file.
